Guilty
by pondlilyrue
Summary: Innocent Quinn Fabray is charged for a heinous crime she did not commit. Enter Sam Evans, fresh out of law school, who will help her prove her innocence. AU. Sam/Quinn


**A/N: Please read this! **This is my latest project I am working on. It is a complete AU where Quinn is in college and comes to visit. She has a younger brother named Jason, who I have made up. It will be Sam+Quinn for those who are wondering. Please excuse the fact I know next-to-nothing about how the police works (though I am hoping to pursue that profession once I am out of school) :P This is fiction and is not **supposed to be completely spot on! **So don't flame me for not knowing anything(: thanks!

**I. QUINN**

**QUINN FABRAY **felt out of place.

She smoothed down the skirt of her periwinkle blue dress, twitching with nerves. If you told her by eight o'clock at night, she would be in the interrogation room for a crime she didn't do, she would have thought you were crazy. If you mentioned to her that her sixteen year-old brother would be dead, she would have told you stop telling such tall tales and rolled her eyes.

The door clicked open, and a handsome man of about twenty-five years of age stepped in. "Miss Fabray?" he asked. Quinn gulped and nodded. "You do know why you are here, don't you?"

Quinn took a deep calming breath and nodded. When she spoke, she was surprised by the fierce tone in her voice. "For a crime I didn't do... sir."

The detective looked amused. "We will get to that later. I am Detective Noah Puckerman from the Homocide Department. I have a couple questions to ask of you, Miss Fabray." Quinn just stared at him. "What was your relationship with your brother like? We have been told that you and Jason were very close."

Quinn's breath caught in her throat at her brother's name. "Yes, Jason and I were very close..." she confirmed, looking down at the sea-green nail polish on her hands.

"So, Jason was two years yougner than you, if I am correct," Detective Puckerman asked. Quinn knew that her voice would fail her at this point, so she nodded mutely.

"Where were you at six-o'clock this evening?" He asked her. Quinn attempted to swallow the large lump that started to rise in her throat. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her skirt, easing her nerves by the slightest bit.

"I-I was in my room here.. I am visiting from college," Quinn told the detective, closing her eyes for a brief second. Suddenly, she wasn't in the local police department's interrogation room, and she was in her own bedroom when she heard that fatal scream. She opened her eyes and saw the detective peering at her curiously.

"Did you hear a scream or anything of the sort? A howl of pain, a gasp, someone entering?" Detective Puckerman asked her bluntly. Quinn fiddled with the hem of her skirt; it was almost as if he was reading her mind.

"I-I didn't hear someone entering," Quinn cleared her throat. _Come on, Quinn, use that model confidence! _She thought to herself. "B-but I heard a howl of pain as you said. W-when I heard it, I came down the stairs. I.. I banged on the door, but it was locked..." she trailed off, collecting herself.

"And what did you do since it was locked?" Detective Puckerman asked, raising an arched eyebrow.

Quinn looked sheepish. "I tossed thechair into the bathroom door and forced myself in," she took a pause, "I s-saw him in the bath tub with a knife in his stomach." She remembered what he looked like – blonde hair coated in sweat, blood smeared over him, mangled body. Jason Fabray was dead when she walked in.

"Then you took the knife out?" Detective Puckerman guessed, scribbling a few notes onto a college-ruled notepad, glancing at her with interest. Quinn coughed and nodded. He gestured for her to continue on with her story.

"I-I guess that was when the neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Jacoby, heard the scream and called the police," Quinn stated. "And they came so.. so quickly... and I was h-holding the knife over his mangled body." Quinn was on the verge of nervous and grief-stricken tears, but she blinked them back stubbornly with a set jaw. Model confidence.

Detective Noah Puckerman was quiet for a while. "It is a fair story you are telling," he said after a while. Quinn was unnerved by the fact that he dubbed it as a 'story', but she kept her mouth shut respectfully. "But we have evidence against you, Miss Fabray," he straightened his tie, "like the fingerprints on the knife."

Quinn appeared incredulous. "What..." she quickly added, "sir..? That was from when I took it out of his stomach!" she protested, sitting up straighter.

"And how do we know that your story is not fabricated by a clever criminal like you just might be?" Detective Puckerman returned, raising a dark eyebrow. Quinn kept her mouth closed, knowing there was no witty rebuttal that could save her now. "Okay," he clasped his hands together. "Do you have a lawyer in mind? If not, we will supply with one."

Quinn licked her lips. "I have one in mind," she straightened her posture confidently. To his questioning look, she added. "I would like to hire Samuel Evans." His younger brother, Stevie, was good friends with Jason, and she knew he would make a good attorney for her. He was fresh out of law school, but Sam knew her well.

Detective Puckerman nodded. "We will contact him shortly. Right now, you are going downstairs."

Quinn didn't like the sound of that.

But she knew protestations would cease to get her anywhere. She nodded mutely and followed Detective Puckerman down the stairs that seemed to last forever. Quinn spotted a large counter with a tall receptionist answering questions and filing police reports for people. Never in her life did she believe she would find herself in a place like this.

Detective Puckerman spoke to the dark-haired man at the counter. He had glanced at her curiously, giving her a not-so-subtle once-over. Once again, Quinn felt out of place with her gold hair pulled back in a headband and model physique.

They led Quinn into a small and claustrophobic room with white walls and a large camera mounted up high. The black-haired man, who she learned was named Officer Finn Hudson, stepped forward and handed her a black slate with several numbers written on it. Quinn glanced at it curiously, and Finn told her it was her criminal number.

_I am not a criminal,_ she thought to herself. They snapped a shot of her with a sour facial expression, much different to her glamorous model shoots she had took part in. Quinn couldn't stop the tremble that traveled through her body as she thought of where she was going. _Prison, I am going to prison, _she thought.

Detective Puckerman called for the correctional officers to take her. The prison guards were big and burly men with dangerous and intense eyes who glared at her like she did something wrong. "Send Miss Fabray to an open cell," he had said, and they nodded and grabbed her by the shoulders.

They basically dragged her into the cell and locked it roughly (with unnecessary force, Quinn believed). The guards glared at her one last time before stalking over to a whining inmate with yellowing teeth who kept screaming cuss words at the top of his lungs. Quinn shivered and fingered her cross-necklace.

The cell was dilapidated and lonely. It was extremely dark and smelled awfully like a sewer. Quinn looked around through the bars and saw many people weeping and screaming and banging their fists against the walls until they are bloodied. Even though many of the prisoners were criminals, Quinn couldn't help but feel sorry for someone in so much pain.

She let a few tears fall.


End file.
